It's so easy to feel rage. And once you have a taste of its power, of its strength, you'll crave for more. It makes you feel invincible, stronger… Makes you feel in control, finally seeing the truth of things even if you're wrong. You feel electricity running up and down your muscles, them rigid and firm, your mind racing with thoughts and certainties you made up in your own mind:
You are better than everyone else. You are right and they are wrong. You are perfect and they are flaws. You are conscious of the real world and they are just stupid. And you hate them all. Because it's so much easy to hate everything and everyone than show feelings, because feelings bring connections and hope. And hope brings weaknesses, vulnerability, and doubts.
For that, you shut everyone out by the use of hurtful words and merciless acts. You slowly become someone apathetic, cold… an emotionless monster without compassion. You show your weakness by hiding it, and hide it by showing it. It can take weeks, months, years until it completely happens, but it does and there's no way of stopping it, it is in your essence. You made yourself your prey and you'll only stop when everything you used to once be is dead. Same goes for everyone that can remind you of who you were when you had something human in you.
You're hopeless, suicidal, uncaring about the consequences of your actions, uncaring about the people you hurt in your process of metamorphoses. It became easier inflicting pain and death in others than face yours.
There is nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal. That's what you are; the final result of your transformation. And now, you attack first and don't ask questions later. You break other people before they can break you.
And you'll never realize you're stuck in chains of flesh and bone, your body and mind your own prison, every breath you take like poison unhurriedly taking the life out of your life. You're dead. You might be blinking, walking and breathing, but you're just a condemned piece of meat with a lack of soul and dead eyes.
You are a dead man walking and Heaven will never be waiting for you.
[Castiel]
"-Give me a sign… Show me you're there. I have been trying so hard, Father. I'm proving myself to You… These offerings, signs of my faith, of my love towards You. I know You must be proud of me: I am doing Your work, Your promise. I'll give You everything and everyone You'll want. Like I always did… Mommy, daddy… I gave them peace, didn't I? For You. They did bad things and I—I saved them. So, plea—"
The whimpers of a young female tied up to a chair break Castiel's ritual of purification. Before he does his artwork he takes a few moments to confess. It's his way to reaching out to God and tell Him; explain Him, the truth and real goal of his actions. He is cleaning the world, taking out one evil human after another, making the beautiful but poisoned Earth into a neat home. He is doing this for Him. Everything!
He is in a holy mission.
"Like this girl… She… Lord, she is sinful, so sinful. I—I have to do this. I have to! To be what she is, to become what she became, it's a stain on Your divine work. She has to bleed; only her own blood will wash her clean!"
Another whimper reaches his ears followed by a sniff. It irritates him, thus he gets up and bounces at the no more than 17-year-old blonde teen, slapping her in the face.
"No crying, you filthy!" He grits with a tight grip on her jaw. "I'm trying to speak to my Father."
The paranoid in his eyes makes the girl close her eyes as a tear streaks down her face. He looses the grip and gets straight up looking down at the girl, judging her. She deserves to die. She dresses like a slut. She takes drugs and is not a virgin. Dirty person right there from Castiel's standards: if you want to clean the world, kill all evil, you might start by killing all the parasites infesting Earth – just like that girl.
He arches his back and cracks his neck until he hears his spine do a 'click' sound and looks up at the windowed ceiling. They are in an abandoned building next to the river. It's night and the moonlight is illuminating his surroundings only with a few candles promoting some more light in that space.
A cold waft dances through the air making the flame of the candles lose their balance and Castiel widely smiles at the sensation he gets from the wind.
It's time.
He bends over the girl, who is half naked, only by her underwear, the rest of her clothes being forcefully taken off after he kidnaped her on her walk home. He spent days watching her, learning her routes, her daily routine… learning about her past. All to get to this point, this moment.
As he bends on her she doesn't hold her cry and sobs desperately, trying to fight the ropes that are keeping her hold. He chuckles, passing a hand through her smooth hair, rubbing then her cheek.
"Shh, don't you see? I have to do this… I'm saving you." He faithfully states widening his eyes at her, believing with his soul in what he is saying, "You're sick, and this… this is going to cure you."
She shakes her head uncontrollably and he grabs the knife he keeps in the back of his waistband: it only makes her cry even harder.
Stifled hums come out of her mouth being replaces with gags as the blood fills her esophagus right after Castiel slices her throat open.
He keeps observing her as the light leaves her eyes and her figure stops moving.
He strokes her face once again, "I gave you peace." He lowly whispers to her dead body and laughs tilting his head back looking at the lonely moon hanging on the sky. "I will give you all peace."
[Dean]
He adjusts his bag on his back as he walks into a small neighborhood known for its less orthodox business. He goes there often to succumb to some of his addictions, but that day, the reason he is there is not his thing for shots or amphetamines: one of those fuckers tried to mess with his little brother.
He is not going to do anything he has never done before. It is no secret, he likes to have power over others people's lives: to hear as they plead for their survival; to giggle while a stupid human tries to run away and get safe; to be the thing people are scared to death and to feel their blood run out of their bodies, like a flower blooms during spring, as they fight to stay alive with the little energy they have left.
He passes by Rudy and waves at him with his usual smirk: there's no need to start fire with the small fishes. He wants the boss, he'll get the boss.
At the end of the street, there's a big old house. He is in there, he knows that. He passes through a couple more of his personal gangsters, who don't get too suspicious on him, considering how much of an expected client and also friend he was, and, instead of stopping at the front door; he ogles around waiting for the perfect break to walk to the back of the place, getting it almost instantly.
He stops at the back porch and kneels down, takes off his bag and opens it taking out his gun and a silencer. He has to do it smart. He puts the silencer on the gun, packs his bag again, adjusts his gloves and, with a steady hand, he slides the door open with no sound at all to warn his arrival.
He walks in, finding an empty living room, but he knows better. He knows he'll have to take two guys down before getting to Mr. Cooper. He had been in his house before, back when Mr. Cooper had a job for him: a cop problem and Dean was his cleaner. Dean usually doesn't take those kinds of jobs, but in other hand, he'd get a three months' supply for free. It was good for him, so he only added the useful to the enjoyable.
Dean silently walks and waits on a corner, carefully listening to whatever sound could come to his ears... Steps. He takes a deep breath, a hint of adrenaline pumping through his veins and, as a short black male appears from the corner, he pulls the trigger not even flinching at the sight of the man plunking to the floor.
He takes a deep breath: this time to smell the blood, its scent making him close his eyes. He loves it, the mixture the blood and gunpowder make as a unique aroma. And he needs more so he takes no longer than five seconds to examine the man and find something to take as a reminder of his ninth kill: a bracelet with tiny skulls; and walks away looking for the other one.
It doesn't take long. He is walking through a hallway when he hears some hums through a door and opens it, finding a man peeing. The man doesn't seem to notice him. Dean was, like always, silent opening the door. He walks at the man and sees he is with earphones put. Dean smiles at that, puts his gun on his waistband and takes his belt out, feeling like trying something different.
He rolls the tips of his belt on his hands until he feels he has a strong grip on it and, with a skilled move, strangles his belt around the man's neck, asphyxiating him to death. The other tries to fight for air, but Dean has the strength of a bull and every attempt of the man to get free is helpless. After one last kick, all the man's weight sinks on Dean and he throws him to the floor, putting his belt back in place.
"Put some pants on, dude." He jokes, nevertheless taking a moment to take a glance at the man's length. "Hmmpf."
After that, it was so easy to find Mr. Cooper. He only needed to go to his study room where he spends most of his time either smoking or talking on the phone.
"Mr. Cooper." He opens the door, now with his gun as his companion again. The fat man rolls on his ugly old chair and halts at Dean's vision. "What? You thought you could try and put a dick in my brother's hole and I wouldn't come here do some payback?" Dean tilts his head to the right with a wicked smile on his face.
"Put that thing down, Winchester." Mr. Cooper commands, his right hand slightly reaching his drawer.
Dean laughs, "This thing?" He shakes his gun.
"That thing."
There's a moment of silence until Dean pulls the trigger but not hitting him on the head, only his hand, "I'll tell you how this is going to be." He quietly states saving his gun as the smell of some blood penetrates his nostrils. "You gonna take your pants off, Mr. Cooper."
"W-What?" The man stutters holding with his good hand the hand that had been just shot.
"Now." He grits clenching his jaw, giving two steps forward.
The old man nods, "Okay… Okay, boy."
While the drug dealer head starts doing what he was told to do, Dean looks around the room, always keeping an eye on the man in front of him. He needed to be quick: at some moment one of those morons could remember to come to the house and that wouldn't be pretty. As he paces around the room, his eyes fetch a baseball bat. Interesting. He goes and grab it, feeling its weight and looks again at the gray-haired man.
"Bend over that table." Dean orders playing with the bat in his hands.
"What?"
"Are you deaf?" He grunts and quickly grabs his gun again. "Bend over that table or I'll blow your fucking brains out!" He raises the tone of his voice as the impatience is starting to get on him.
With two shaky naked legs, the old man does what Dean says; already thinking of what that psycho could do to him. However, he doesn't believe he is going to get killed. So, with a sudden hint of courage and rage he grits his threat out, "My guys will find you, bring you to me and I'll tear you apart, kiddo. Mark my words."
It makes the other laugh, "Is that so?" His words come out hoarse and daring. "I beg to differ, 'cause you see… You won't be walking out of this one alive, fat ass." He blows out with a mocking smile and slaps the man's rear, getting a mad grunt from Mr. Cooper.
That's when the bat hits the man at the back of his head, "You touch my brother…" He roars already raising the bat once more. "With your nasty cock…" Another hit on the man's head. "You die!" He laughs at the last part and gives one last hit, feeling blood splashing him on the face.
He happily sighs at the corpse with deformed skull sliding down the table to the floor and cleans the blood from his face. He plays a little more with the bat until he throws it to the floor next to the body of the man who tried to rape his Sammy.
He clenches the jaw at that memory and spats on the dead man.
He looks one last time at the room and takes a menthol candy from a glassy bowl and walks out of the study room humming "What A Wonderful World" along the way, gun already saved, blood cleaned and a smiley face on him. He is, after all, only a satisfied young man who just popped out to buy some of the good stuff and spend some time with the Man of the place.